For Your Consideration
by thebeeisme
Summary: Hunger Games with Glee characters. Blaine centric. Will be Klaine, Tike, other pairings. Character deaths, obviously. Rating will quite possibly change. Enjoy.


**Hey so this is my Hunger Games/Glee crossover that I'm working on. It is very much a work in progress, but I thought it would be fun, and a few people also expressed their interest in it so yeah. I hope everyone enjoys and whatnot, and I'll try to upload as regularly as possible, but as most of you know it may take some time due to school and life etc. Thanks for reading - Bee.**

* * *

It was silent.

A small, sullen boy sat at a low wooden table in his low wooden house by the sea. He decided to create noise.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap tap.

Tap tap tap.

"Blaine."

Tap.

"Blaine, stop."

…Tap.

"BLAINE."

It was silent.

He wasn't anything special. Blaine Anderson, 16 years old from last 23rd November, 5ft 7in, 58 kilos, fisherman's son, District 4, Panem. That's all the rest of the world really needed to know anyway.

They didn't need to know he spent all his spare time fishing illegally out of the District's boundaries to support his family. Well, himself and his mother anyway. They didn't need to know that he'd been doing so since his father became an alcoholic, way back when Blaine was six or seven years old. His mother was a small, simple and softly spoken woman, content to leave her husband to booze his days away while she spent all her time painting on an old easel out the back of their hut. Blaine's older brother, Cooper, lived in District 6 with his wife, working on transportation for the Capitol, which made Blaine practically an only child. This didn't stop his parents and other district adults comparing him to his brother, who had been a model citizen, heartthrob and 'promising young man' in his time in the fishing district.

They didn't need to know how his father hadn't spoken to him since he came out as gay to his family. He remembers the day clearly.

"Mom, Dad. I'm gay," he had said, straight to the point was best he thought.

His father had frowned, face set into a hard line. He had downed the rest of his glass of strong liquor, grabbed the whole decanter from the same table Blaine sat at now, and walked out of the room.

His mother had merely stared at him with her glassy, seeing-but-not-seeing eyes. Eyes that pierced through to your very soul, yet looked so unfocused. Blaine had thought that's all she would do, until his father left the room. She raised from her chair facing Blaine, made her way around the back of him, and laid one hand on his left shoulder. It was the single most reassuring act in Blaine's life.

In fact, the rest of the world could quite kindly mind their own business. They didn't need to know anything.

"Blaine. You've done all this before. Today's not going to be any different."

Blaine's mother stared at him with those eyes, neither kind nor reprimanding, from across the table. She had taken the sharpened off stick he had been using to tap its hardwood surface and was now twirling it absently between her fingers.

"But there's always the chance," Blaine said quietly, "that it could be."

"I know."

Silence.

She started snapping the stick, one piece broken off at a time.

"Well."

"Hmm?"

"May the odds be ever in my favour."

* * *

After Blaine was corralled into the sixteen year olds waiting area, he sat in the dirt and regarded the pinprick on his finger where the Peacekeepers had taken his DNA sample. He saw familiar faces around him, that of his classmates, family friends etc. etc. It was hard not to imagine that in less than ten minutes, one of them could be chosen for the reaping.

Blaine hated this. Hated the Capitol, hated the Districts, hated the whole arrangement. He just wanted it to be over, even if purely on a selfish level. It wasn't fair. To the children, to the families they left behind, to anyone. If this was the Capitol's way of honouring their ancestors, what was it representing the District's ancestors as? Weak? Controlled? Mere sheep?

"Ahem!"

Blaine looked up. A woman in the brightest, pinkest, most elaborate clothing he had ever seen stood in the centre of the newly erected stage. Effie Trinket.

"Heeeelllooooo District 4, and Happy Hunger Games! It is suuuch a pleasure to be here at the reaping of two stroooong, braaaave young men and women for the 74th Annual Hunger Games! We have a quick video to begin with, then we'll get on with the fuuun stuff!" She drawled out each word with an elaborate flourish, the end of each sentence rising in pitch dramatically. She sounded so… happy. It made Blaine sick.

The showed the same video they did every year, something about honouring your district in a gallant fight to the death. As it ended abruptly, Effie made her way back to the microphone, clapping and smiling madly.

"OKAY! Well, you know the drill. Laaaaadies fiiiirrrst!"

She reached into the glass bowl, rummaged around roughly for a while, and pulled out a little named placard. Blaine hoped against hope it was no one he knew.

"Tina Cohen-Chang!"

Nothing happened. No one came forth.

"Come on dear, it is an HONOUR to be reaped for the Games! Come on, that's the way, step up, look lively!"

A small Asian girl tentatively made her way up the side steps of the stage. Her long black hair was in two plaits down over her shoulders. She wore a pretty blue dress, obviously too big for her, as it hung all the way down to her ankles and billowed out in the sleeves. Her startled brown eyes were red and wet like she was trying hard to keep from sobbing. She held her head high, though her fragile frame was shaking like a leaf.

Blaine remembered her, from somewhere. Singing lessons, he thinks, when he was little; maybe no more than four or five. She went to school with Blaine, but they had been some of the quietest kids, and neither made friends easily. Well, Blaine had no mentionable friends other than his brother, and even then…

"Welcome Tina! Are you ready to meet your luuuucky male counterpart?" Effie screeched, more to the crowd than the girl.

Tina gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Blaine held his breath and hoped once again, never expecting that the name soon called would be someone as close to him as could possibly get.

"Blaine Anderson!"

* * *

It had been about an hour since the peacekeepers had locked Blaine in his holding cell of a waiting room, somewhere behind the city hall. He was told the train would be coming to take him to the Capitol shortly, then left alone, the door slamming abruptly as the two suits made their way out. He didn't know if anyone would come to see him off or wish him luck, like he could hear Tina's parents and small twin brother and sister doing in the next room. His mother maybe. He didn't know whether he wanted anyone to even come or not.

That's why he was startled and surprised when the doors banged open and in strode none other than Cooper Anderson himself.

"The hero returns to his village," Blaine said with a hint of a smile, standing to embrace him in a brotherly hug.

"Aren't you meant to be the hero right now?" Cooper returned with an even brighter smile, though something flickered beneath it. Something like fear, an emotion rarely seen on that face.

"I guess." Blaine sat back down, his brother following to flank his right side on the overly decorated chaise lounge.

There was silence for a long while, in which Blaine expected Cooper to ask after his mother and father, how they were, what they were doing, how school was for Blaine at the moment. It occurred to him then that he probably would never return to school. He thought that he would miss it. Instead, he apologized. That was Blaine's second expectation.

"I'm sorry, Blainers," Cooper laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, pat it a few times, then awkwardly put it back in his own lap when Blaine made no move to respond.

"No one's called me that since you left," he said after a while.

They smiled, each to their feet.

"Any words of wisdom? Chivalrous stories of survival and how to? Killing techniques?" Blaine laughed bitterly at his own cruel joke.

"Not really. I guess you're good with sticks and logs and stuff right? I remember you building tree houses when you were little. You never let me help. Said I would just stuff it up. Probably right too, I'm more of the presenting-it-to-the-audience-after-it's-done kind of guy. You though, you're a builder. That's gotta count for something right? Shelter or weapons or like, a catapult or something."

"Weapons out of sticks?"

"You could make a stake."

"Handy if any of the other tributes are vampires."

"Exactly."

"I'm not any good at fighting though. Even if I did make a stake, or get a bow or a dagger or anything, what am I s'pose to do with it then?"

Cooper saw the fear in his little brother's eyes, the self-doubt. He could not imagine what must be going through his curly little head right now, or how Cooper would feel in his situation. It was awful.

"Then little brother," he said with a grin, "you pretend the enemy is a meddling older brother trying to catch you in a headlock."

He did just that, grabbing Blaine's head and shoving his neck between his arm and chest in a vicious brotherly symbol of affection. Blaine laughed, actually laughed, and squirmed against Cooper as he messed up his hair and tightened his grip.

They were interrupted in their game by the door opening once more, but this time a more unwelcome family member stepped through.

"Son," Blaine's father said, addressing Cooper, "you're home."

Blaine was let go of and he hastened to straighten out his clothes with a frown on his face. His father hadn't called him son for three years. Since he came out.

"Father," Cooper rose from his seat and shook their father's hand.

Blaine's mother tiptoed through the door like a timid mouse, peeking out from behind her husband.

There was silence, which Cooper broke.

"Aren't you gonna talk to him? This may be the last chance you get." It was without venom, but it still hurt.

"Blaine, look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Blaine looked up at his father, even though he had only just begun speaking. I'm weak, he thought, to still want to please him even though I'm a dead man.

"Blaine," his father stepped closer, scratching his stubble as he spoke, feet shuffling along the hardwood floor, "I'm sorry."

That was the least expected thing Blaine had ever thought to hear from him.

"I'm sorry that you were chosen for this."

Oh.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." The man turned away, pushing his wife forward as he did.

"Excuse me, but I think you owe him an apology for more than just that," it was Cooper, grabbing his father's arm in the same vice like grip he'd had on Blaine's neck not a moment ago.

"That's out of the question. I owe the boy nothing."

"Oh but I think you do."

"Coop, drop it," Blaine said from the corner, standing as well, "it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" Cooper looked at Blaine in astonishment, "Doesn't matter? Of course it matters! He neglected you! You are his son!" Cooper rounded on the older man, "Does it matter to you? Does HE matter to YOU?"

"Of course he matters to me!" Blaine's father was shouting too now, pushing Cooper's arm roughly away. He approached Blaine.

"Yes, Blaine, you are my son. I will admit that I was… cold to you during these past years. But you have chosen who you are, and I am who I am. We are two completely different people, and I hate to say it, but I don't agree with your choices. You could have been great. You could have been someone I was proud to call my own flesh and blood. Instead, you are the way you are. You sing, you dance, you read, you play with your sticks and stones and help your mother cook. You're a girl. You can't play sport, or fish, or-or hold your drink! You're not what I expected. Yes you're smart. Yes you're kind. But what do those things matter, in the long run? Who can make a living or a name for himself from smart or kind? And now you've gone and gotten yourself chosen for the Games. And I have to face the fact that the son I once had, the son completely gone to me now, will never resurface, because he'll never have the chance to. You won't be able to handle this, Blaine. You'll die in the Games. They will be your end. And it'll be just another disappointment to me."

Blaine felt the words like a slap across the face, but he heard a real slap too. His mother stood with her hand raised, a red mark blooming across her husband's cheek.

"You haven't spoken to him in years, and now you do and you speak to him like that? I won't allow it," she said fiercely.

"YOU won't allow it?" he laughed and clutched his face, a look of plain disbelief crossing it.

"Yes. Now leave us. You are not welcome."

"Excuse m-"

"LEAVE."

He picked up the rum bottle he had placed by the door on his way in and with a last disdainful look back at his family, left, slamming the door behind him.

"Ma-" Blaine started toward her.

"It's okay Blaine. That's something I should've done a long time ago."

Cooper stood at the wall near the door, arms crossed over his chest and looking impressed at his mother's bravery.

Blaine embraced his mother tightly, and for the first time in all this, let a single tear flow freely down his cheek.

"I'm scared Ma," he admitted quietly.

"Me too Blaine. It's ok. It's ok, son."

Blaine cried and cried into his mother's shirt, after a while feeling Cooper's hand rest on his back. The three of them stood in a sort of affectionate huddle, Blaine in between the both of them, until the Peacekeepers returned for their tribute.

"Ma, Coop-" Blaine reached out for them, it wasn't enough, it had been too short a time, he needed them, don't take them away…

"Good luck Blainers," said Cooper with one final hug.

"Ma-"

"Courage, Blaine. Have courage," his mother said firmly, gripping his hand as she was ushered away.

Then, with a final slamming of the door, he was alone.

It was silent.

A small, broken boy sat at a vibrant chaise lounge in a little locked room by the sea.

He wept.


End file.
